


Trophy

by applejwoos (kenmarcadeblues)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Aged-Up Character(s), BUT THIS IS A MINSUNG FIC, Barebacking, Face-Fucking, First Meetings, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Heartbreak, I promise, I'm Sorry, M/M, Open Relationships, Polyamory, Sex, Sugar Baby Lee Minho | Lee Know, Sugar Daddy Bang Chan, Sugar Daddy Kim Woojin, minsung will not be fucking. goodnight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 12:18:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16743868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenmarcadeblues/pseuds/applejwoos
Summary: Both of Minho's boyfriends want to win him over, to make him say he'll be theirs and only theirs. To make him the perfect trophy husband.But after 10 months, Minho's heart is still out of their reach. Out of anyone's reach.(At least, that's what he thinks.)





	1. Chapter 1

"Guess what?"

"What, Minnie?"

"The teacher said my creme brulee was the best," beams Minho, taking a seat on Woojin's lap.

"Is that so?" Woojin coos as he starts to move his fingers through Minho's soft waves of hair, something he can't resist doing. Minho nods and smiles fondly as he remembers earlier in the afternoon.

 

_Hyunjin gaped at the dessert Minho had whipped up with big eyes. "Wow, yours looks great!"_

_"Yours does too, Hyunjinnie."_

_"Not like yours, it doesn't. It's almost, like...I think I want to fuck your creme brulee..."_

_"But you wouldn't fuck your own?"_

_"Pffft, nah. Yours is...sexier, it's perfect. How the hell did you do it?"_

_"I guess I'm just special like that."_

_"Mingyu-ssaem, Minho is a wizard, look!" Hyunjin yelled, summoning the cooking teacher to their table._

_The man nodded. "Very nice, Minho. Do you want me to have a taste?"_

_"Please, go ahead."_

_Mr. Kim stuck his sampling spoon into the creme brulee, taking a minuscule amount. He brought it to his lips and wore a thoughtful look as he chewed. His eyes lit up. "Mm. Ah, wow. Delicious, wonderful, lovely. I want to scarf it down in thirty seconds and lick the bowl."_

_Minho found himself giggling at the praise. "Thank you very much."_

_After class was over, the 21 year old had been the last student to leave the room. He put away all his things quietly, humming a soft tune._

_Mr. Kim came up behind him. "Really great work today, Minho."_

_Minho chuckled. "Yeah, thanks. Why are you telling me again, though? I do have a good memory, you know."_

_"Well, I just wanted to say that you have a knack for this. I think yours was the best in the class."_

_At this, Minho raised an eyebrow. "Really? And you're not just saying this because I'm pretty?"_

_"No, I seriously—I mean you_ are _pretty but that's not—" Minho stopped him from saying anything more by putting a finger to the man's smooth lips._

_"Hush, now. I need to get going or Woojin-hyung will miss me too much," Minho told him softly, pressing a light kiss to Mr. Kim's cheek. "Have a nice day, Mingyu-ssaem."_

_Minho swears his cooking teacher had blushed_.

 

"You really are lucky to have me: the greatest, sexiest chef known to man,” Minho declares with a wink.

Woojin’s eyebrow raises at that. "Do I have you, though?"

"Eh...it’s questionable."

Frowning, Woojin reaches for the younger man's hand. He isn't huge on holding hands, but once he feels protective or insecure, Minho has noticed, he suddenly craves his boyfriend's fingers. "You know I love you, right?"

"Exactly what Chris-hyung says, too,” is Minho’s coy reply.

"Could you not call him that?" The older man can't help the jealousy dripping from his tone. Minho could swear those warm irises were not that shade of dark brown a second ago.

"Why not? It's the most fun to say while he's fuc—"

"Please,” Woojin laments, cringing, "I really don't need that image." He sighs. "Honestly, I still can't understand why you let him touch you. He's so...ugh...and you're so - just, perfect. Absolutely perfect."

Minho nearly melts at the compliment, color rushing up his cheeks, but he's not done yet. "Maybe he makes me cum harder," he provokes. "Ever thought of that?"

Woojin's gaze is cast downward, clearly debating whether to take the ridiculous implication to heart. Minho lifts the 28 year old’s chin upward and plants a chaste kiss on his lips. "Only joking, Jinnie-hyung. Really." (He knows this style of teasing goes over better with Chan, but that doesn't stop him from giving Woojin a try every once in a while. Minho is stubborn that way.)

The two sit in silence for a minute, a minute in which Minho barely breathes, before Woojin leans in. "How about I make you cum so hard you forget he exists, hm?" he asks, breath tickling the shell of Minho's ear.

"Not sure if that’s physically possible but by all means, please try your best.”

Woojin grins and begins planting kisses down Minho's neck.

 

 

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

 

 

Minho still isn’t entirely sure how he manages to get into these situations. He was trying to bake bread pudding to celebrate his boyfriend’s newly opened company building; not get bent over the island in the middle of the kitchen. This is fun and all, but he definitely hadn’t spelled out _fuck me, the sooner the better_ in flour or anything. Is it Chan’s lack of inhibition that makes it possible for anything to escalate to sex? Minho’s lack of shame, maybe? Both?

 

"Chris-hyung, harder!"

 

Slightly annoyed but undeniably more aroused, Chan obeys and tightens his grip on the younger man's hips as he searches for the spot that makes Minho see stars at any hour.  
  
Chan is a classy man: for the sake of his neighbor’s ears, he makes certain that the classical music quintessential to the atmosphere of the Bang villa is playing louder than usual on the surround sound system whenever he has his way with his boyfriend. But unfortunately for the building’s residents, Minho’s wails of pleasure often transcend walls and outmatch the crescendos of Chan’s good intentions.

 

No noise complaints have come yet. Nobody wants to be _that person_ who told off Bang “Chris” Chan, one of the generation’s biggest Hallyu stars. Most of the residents put in earplugs or turn up the volume of whatever they’re listening to in their own place, and wait; while a rare few tune in to the sounds of the affairs with intrigue. (Neither men are aware, but nothing would change if Minho knew. Actually, scratch that—he might like the notion of other people hearing him. He might scream if he knew there was an audience.)

 

The whine Minho makes when Chan pulls out transforms into a gasp of excitement as he’s flipped over and lifted up, bare against cold granite. Chan climbs onto the counter himself a second later and spreads Minho’s plush thighs, eagerly pushing back into his boyfriend. “Ah, ha...hyung...” Minho’s breath hitches once Chan bottoms out.

 

They kiss again until Minho is nearly oxygen deprived and his hips start rolling impatiently. His dark head of hair tips back in bliss as Chan abandons his mouth and rubs circles onto his nipples, rewarding the older man with a soft smile and a show of fluttering lashes.

 

The symphony of skin on skin, as well as Minho’s pleased mewls, resumes bouncing off the pots and pans that hang in the room as Chan fucks deep into the younger man, finding a steady rhythm in the way he slides in and out of warm walls.

 

“Taking my cock so well, honey,” he drawls in English, the Aussie twang sending sparks down the length of Minho’s body, all the way to the heat between his legs. “Not too tight, huh? Let _Kim_ have you first, didn’t you?” Anyone with eyes should be able to find the fresh colors Woojin left on the canvas of Minho’s flushed skin; Chan just likes to talk. Minho nods because the 28 year old appreciates a response, too. “Baby boy’s so needy, wants all the cock he can get.”

 

Chan hits somewhere new and Minho’s back arches. “Oh!” His eyes crinkle shut, blunt nails digging into the back of a satisfied looking blond.

 

“There, hm?” Chan’s voice is breathy, lips barely coming together to enunciate. “Good?”

 

“Yeah—fuck.”

 

The older man’s thrusts are getting faster, less controlled. His eyes narrow, fiery on Minho’s face. Sweat drips down from his bleached hair and shines on his prominent neck muscles. “Gonna cum untouched like a big boy, yeah?”

 

“Only big—ah—thing here is y-you,” Minho insists, all big pupils and shiny whites and long lashes atop rosy cheeks when he peers up at the man on top of him.

 

One more stroke and Chan unravels, pulsing cock and forceful release sending Minho into the throes of his own orgasm, an unabashed moan exiting his throat before he cums all over his stomach.

 

 

Chest in motion like a tumultuous sea, Minho lays idle on top of the kitchen island and stares absently at his metallic reflection in the latte machine. The modest room smells like sweat, sugar, and lingering coffee. It’s not as fancy as the kitchen belonging to Woojin, who might’ve been a chef in another life, but the value of everything in here costs a small fortune, possibly more than Minho’s life.

 

And there’s enough counter space to comfortably have sex, anyway—which the homeowner much prefers over cooking.

 

He sits up and stretches, stickiness running down his thigh as he does.  

 

Upon hearing running water, he twists around to find Chan at the sink, running a washcloth under the faucet. Chan shuts it off and then shoots a smile at him, seemingly capable of feeling Minho’s gaze.

 

“Lee Minho,” he murmurs, and it sounds like a 3-syllable prayer when he intones it that way, as if he has stumbled upon the 8th wonder of the world, left wild for decades yet breathtaking still in its disarray. He holds Minho’s eyes in his, dimples springing up to accompany his fond stare. “God, look at you. Aphrodite’s got nothing on my baby.”

 

And little puffs of laughter come from Minho’s red, slicked up lips because Chan sounds so in love, so disgustingly in love. Minho longs to understand that feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing something like this is extremely out of character for me. i want to see how it goes. and hopefully not throw myself out a window lol?? if you have some constructive criticism on the smut i'd appreciate that since i'm very inexperienced, this is the first time i've posted smut ever in my life


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a lot happens here but next chapter should be Fun so hang in there~

When Minho reaches over to the nightstand at ten-thirty-whatever in the morning, there are two texts waiting for him.

 

from: Kangaroo-hyungie 

_Hope you slept well, baby boy. Went to m countdown. You looked pretty tired, so hyung didn’t wanna wake you :) You know I won’t be back home for a while, right?_

 

from: Mama 

_Minho-ah, I miss your voice. Call soon, please_

 

He rubs sleep out of his eyes and sends a quick

 

 _yeah, I got it~ thanks babe, you’re the best_ ♥♥♥

 

before slipping out of Chan’s silk blanket, phone still in hand.

 

 

With a bath bomb fizzing near his feet, Minho lowers himself into the warm bath and readily inhales the lavender scented steam. His phone sits on the rim of the round tub, bundled up in waterproof casing. “Call Mama,” he instructs before laying back into the water and closing his eyes.

 

It’s pleasant and nuanced talk. He makes sure that his mother got all the money he sent, that she’s taking care of herself; asks if she’s still seeing the same guy and whether she’s being treated well, asks about his sister, wonders aloud about when he should come visit next (the answer is _anytime, I’m always ready_ ).

 

“You sound a bit out of it...are you okay, honey?” she asks once they hit a lull in conversation.

 

“Mm, it’s nothing. Long day yesterday, that’s all.”

 

“Alright.” She pauses. “How are things on your end?”

 

Minho’s eyelids slit open, despite not having anyone to look at. “Things are great,” he answers honestly. “I’m doing well.”

 

“Any...progress?”

 

“Progress?” he echoes dumbly. He knows where this is going. Despite his best efforts, it always goes here.

 

“Lee Minho, how much longer are you going to live like this?” _And there it is._

 

Lee Yoosil has two children from a discontinued marriage. One studied and trained to become an elementary school teacher in their hometown of Gimpo. The other was sent to Seoul, where he started dating two K-pop stars and subsequently dropped out of university.

 

 _Like this_ is not settling down. It’s not choosing. It’s always being on the move from condo to villa and back again. It’s having Woojin suck marks on your collarbone and then Chan’s hands squeezing your ass an hour and a half later and in spite of it all, in the little darkness of your mind, hypothesizing whether your cooking teacher is into foodplay.

 

 _Like this_ is having two men in love with you but loving neither.

 

( _Like this_ is having it all while simultaneously having nothing.)

 

Minho has said it before and he’s saying it now. “I don’t know, Mama.”

 

 

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

 

 

“God, you should’ve seen this set! It was epic, the production value must be through the roof. I mean, it is a choreography version for _Ten_ , but, still. The lasers alone...” Hyunjin gushes, fluorescent shop lights exaggerating the sparkles in his eyes as he recounts his most recent work project. “I would’ve taken tons of photos but phones weren’t even allowed in the same room. Something about taking precautions against device interference and whatever.”

 

Minho has to smile at his friend’s enthusiasm. The hardworking kid he’d befriended at university is making it into the big leagues, and Minho couldn’t be more proud. “Okay you can stop, you’re making me too impatient for it to drop,” he says playfully, pushing the dancer lightly on the shoulder.

 

“Editing and finalizing only takes a couple weeks, you punk—oh, look at those!” Hyunjin points at a pair of shoes on the shelf at his eye-level. “Aren’t they cute?” They’re mid-size boots, navy crushed velvet with a small dark washed wooden heel.

 

“Mhm. Don’t seem like they’d work for me, though—you give them a try.”

 

 

A sales associate brings them in Hyunjin’s size and soon the 20 year old is prancing around experimentally, stopping in every mirror to judge his appearance. Minho hears a tiny, delighted gasp leave the younger’s mouth. They accentuate his already long legs and make him tower over anyone within the normal range of height. Just how he likes it.

 

“Well?” Minho asks, even though he doesn’t need to.

 

“They’re really nice. Fun, too,” Hyunjin concludes, lifting up his heel and smiling at his reflection.

 

“Want them?” Hyunjin sets his big lips in a line and blinks, slowly shaking his head at his friend’s thoughtful gaze. And Minho just rolls his eyes. “Alright. How much?”

 

 _“Hyung,”_ says Hyunjin. He has dropped honorifics with Minho but they naturally come out when he needs to be persuasive. Minho rarely brings it up because it’s cute. And nice to hear every once and awhile. “No.”

 

“Hyung, _yes,”_ retorts Minho, grabbing for the shoe box and reading the price tag. “₩170,000 won’t hurt, Woojin just paid off the card he gave me.” His pocket buzzes and he discovers a text from none other than the older male he’d spoken of.

 

from: Hyungie-BEAR 

_Hi babe~ are you almost done packing?_

 

His eyes linger on the message, slowly decoding what it is implying. “Shit,” he mumbles.

 

Woojin has a short schedule in the United States this week and Minho had expressed his desire to come along. They’re supposed to be flying to Los Angeles...soon. And he didn’t remember until right this very moment. In short, Minho fucked up. (He can be flighty to a fault, but this is a new low. Maybe one of his boyfriends fucked it out of his long term memory.)

 

to: Hyungie-BEAR 

_yep!! can’t wait to leave xx_

 

to: Kangaroo-hyungie 

_sooo um, gonna be in LA w/ Woojin-hyung for a few days...I’m so srry for not telling u earlier, slipped my mind :\_

 

His plan is to haphazardly shove things into a suitcase and pray he doesn’t forget anything obvious. The innards of his closet flash through his mind as he attempts to conjure up LA Trip Looks. “Hyunjinnie, let’s pay for this and go, yeah?”

 

“Sure. I should be studying anyway…” Hyunjin trails off while bending over to carefully slip off the boots.

 

“Kid, you better re-evaluate your priorities.”

 

“But if I did, you’d be lonely!”

 

Minho hates when Hyunjin is right. He swipes one of his credit cards quietly and retrieves the two shopping bags that were being held at the cash register, filled with his earlier purchases from previous stores.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope none of y’all died while waiting, because I think this is worth it?? peep the modified tags! 
> 
> oh yeah and this started playing in my head while writing the 2nd part...don’t @ me...

The screams aren’t for Minho; they never are. The cameras aren’t, either. If he gets in a shot, it’s a coincidence. And if a flash renders him momentarily blind, it’s a reprimand to keep his eyes in one of two directions: forward or down.

 

Forward is Woojin, several paces ahead and pretending to like walking alone, his back appearing broad in his favorite “airport” jacket. Down is the dingy tile of LAX and Minho’s plain black converse, stepping along as if the man in front of him is nothing but a troublesome celebrity he has to help manage.

 

Still, Minho’s eyes are known to wander.  

 

_“You’re trending.”_

 

_“Hmm?” he intoned through a mouthful of noodles._

 

_“Don’t play dumb with me.”_

 

_Minho set down his chopsticks. “I don’t know what you mean?” He waited for his sister to continue, but the phone laid quietly against his desk. He chewed quickly and swallowed. “No, really. Elaborate, please?”_

 

_“The fansite photos! You are. All. Over. Naver,” Eunjae enunciated. “Twitter, too, I think.” Her voice was filled with an uncommon wonderment. Minho had made her proud before, but as far as his ears understood, this was something else entirely._

 

_Minho wished he could join in whatever feeling it might be. Instead, his skin prickled at the thought of anything and everything that could happen as soon as he stepped outside the confines of his dorm. Having to speak to higher-ups in Woojin’s company was never on his agenda, but surely it was to be in his immediate future. (It was a wonder the man hadn’t called or texted by now.)_

 

_Ending up in photos was a given if he spent any time with Woojin in public spaces—but that’s what wearing a face mask and a hat was for. It was the only instance in which Minho agreed that covering his features was for the better. But clearly the face mask and hat weren’t enough. If netizens knew his name, what else had they discovered? His social media accounts, his age, where he attended school…?_

 

_The half-full bowl of ramen in front of him wasn’t appetizing anymore._

 

 _“At least,” Eunjae continued, “_ I _know it’s you. Clearly, with that posture and that body. And those eyes, Minho-yah. To everyone else you’re_ eyeshine guy.”

 

 _Scarcely had Minho began to release the building tension in his shoulders when his sister’s high tone filled his quiet workspace once more. “My God...” she began, trailing off as her attention seemed to waver. Maybe she was online at that very moment, scouring live results and scrolling through feeds. “What in the world was my little brother doing with Kim Woojin? Who even_ are _you?”_

 

_Minho dropped his head in his hands and stared at the cover of his music textbook. This wasn’t the test he was supposed to be studying for, and yet those questions weren’t easily answerable._

 

The van door clicks shut, abruptly dulling the roar of voices outside. Minho is fixated on a sign which reads, _I love you, Jinnie Oppa!!!!!_ held aloft by a white girl when he feels a hand on his knee.

 

“You okay, baby? Minnie?”

 

Under the cover of tinted windows, Minho finally pulls down his face mask and turns to his boyfriend. “Yeah,” he responds with a smile as he relaxes into the seat. “I’m more than okay, I’m in LA!” The concern on the older man’s face melts away. “There’s just”—he gestures to the window and the hectic scene it displays— “a lot of them. Like...wow.”

 

“I know...I can’t understand it.” The idol says it in awe, as if peering over the edge of an impossibly tall waterfall, wondering just how anything could be so majestically terrifying right in front of him—but the happy crinkle at the corner of his eyes tells an additional truth. He’s proud. He wants this. _This is what he deserves._

 

Chan has a well-developed American fanbase and it makes sense; he’s a native English speaker and even when he was still with Bring It, he’d been the most popular member in English speaking countries.

 

But Woojin? He was a Daejeon man that slacked in English studies unless the words were put in a melody—at least, up until a few years ago. Whether his efforts were paying off or Americans decided they needed another trendy artist to consume, Kim Woojin is being called the next big thing in K-Wave.

 

Minho takes off his hat and finds his place in Woojin’s shoulder. Where Woojin is anxious yet excited and PopU Entertainment is over the moon, the twenty two year old is simply grateful. And what else should he be? It’s because of these new fans that he’s getting this opportunity to find out if the West Coast is worth all the hype.

 

 

◇ ◇ ◇ ◇

 

 

Minho looks up from his phone and nearly chokes on the lollipop that he’d heisted out of the waiting room. “Oh my god.”

 

Woojin groans. “Is it _that_ obvious?” he asks, perfectly manicured face contorted in distress.

 

To his dismay, a smirk graces the younger’s lips as he nods. “From a mile away, hyung.”

 

Today, Kim Woojin’s stylists have him prepped for a stage on Good Morning America and an interview at BUILD. He’s in a loose white and silver marbled shirt with a few buttons undone, tucked into shiny black jeans. A few strands of brown hair are falling into his eyes, which have a light dose of silver shadow on the lids. He looks as dashing and radiant as a pop prince is supposed to be. (Woojin insists that _kings_ are the ones which came before him, debuted earlier than his time, but Minho, and many others, find this highly debatable.)

 

All the details cohesively make for a nice ensemble, but what’s currently stealing the show (and Minho’s breath) is the bulge in his pants.

 

Woojin is not a small man and for whatever reason, he’s half-hard in skin-tight jeans. It’s obscene, as far as daytime TV and family-friendly YouTube content is concerned. He turns to the mirror and pulls at his pants, attempting to adjust his appearance, but to no avail; the fabric clings and bunches up just the same. “Damn it, why _now_...”

 

“Okay, look, you know you can’t go out like that,” Minho declares, stepping pointedly towards his boyfriend.

 

“Yeah…” Woojin sighs. “Go ask Miyeon if they brought looser pants, really quick—please?” Instead of answering, however, Minho wordlessly hands Woojin his lollipop and sinks to his knees. He tugs at the older man’s zipper only to get swatted away. “No, bub, it’s not—w-we can’t,” Woojin scolds gently. “There’s 5 minutes until I should be heading backstage.”

 

“5 minutes is enough.” That would close the deal for Chan, Minho thinks; but this is Woojin, and he is prone to needing something more fleshed out. _I’m your sugar baby, I’m here for moments like this,_ instead comes out as: “What, don’t tell me you’re gonna jerk yourself off? It’ll be a lot less messy if I swallow.”

 

Unsurprisingly, Woojin accepts the logic, and so Minho wastes no time. The 21 year old strokes his boyfriend’s cock, which quickly hardens completely in his warm, fluid caress. Woojin stutters out a breath in response and Minho smiles up at him all too eagerly. “Don’t hold back, hyung,” he instructs, and in the next moment, his lips, still sticky with sugar, engulf Woojin’s tip.

 

“F-fuck...” hisses Woojin. Fingers tangle in Minho’s hair and ease head forward until the younger man is pressed against the base of Woojin’s cock. Minho hums around him, fingertips drumming the back of his toned thighs.

 

Ever-grateful, Woojin gets the message. He tightens his grip and Minho’s scalp tingles deliciously, body going lax like a rag doll as the older man starts to fuck his throat.

 

And Minho continues to hum, the candy-coated vibrations working wonders as Woojin relentlessly chases his release. The motion of Woojin’s thick cock sliding in and out almost lulls Minho, an ebb and flow that leaves him floaty and wanting.

 

Wanting to hear Woojin sing praises to him; for grunts to become _God your lips were made for this._ But there’s no time for frilly, unsweet nothings and Minho, admittedly, isn’t doing much aside from coaxing his throat muscles into relaxation.

 

Drool dribbles from his lips. His eyes are pricking with tears; they spill over and the face of his lover goes blurry like an abstract painting, but Minho doesn’t stop staring at the art. Not even when Woojin’s eyes squint and his hips stutter and his cum thickly coats Minho’s mouth.

 

Hastily, the idol zips up his pants and smooths out his shirt before pulling Minho onto his feet. The younger has been reduced to shaky legs and gasps for air.

 

One hand holds Minho’s cheek and then wipes tear tracks down from his glossy eyes. “Oh, baby…” Woojin coos, “baby you’re _so_ good.” It’s wet and sweet and salty all at once when he presses a kiss into Minho’s little pout; and when he pulls away, there’s a smile in its place. “So good for me. Thank you.”

 

The door opens and some staff member pokes their torso through. “Woojin-ssi, let’s go!”

 

Minho barely blinks when Woojin shoves his forgotten lollipop between his lips, barely realizes Woojin has left the room without another word and just like that, the 21 year old is alone—rolling candy along his teeth with a renewed interest and pondering whether or not to ignore the erection pressing at his jeans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so woomin are in LA!! is there anything you guys really want them to do while they’re here? let me know! <3


End file.
